Sam heard Dean call his name. He couldn't believe his brother was there. Sam held his arm, probably broken in a few places, and walked towards Dean.

When he'd been spirited away to the demon infested ghost town, Sam wasn't sure he was on an earthly plane of existence anymore. Yet Dean was right there. Andy must've gotten through to him. Dean was there. His brother found him. He was safe.

"Sam," Dean called.

Sam shouted back, "Dean." Sam had never been more relieved in his life to see his brother.

"Sam, look out!" Dean shouted.

A sudden sharp pain in Sam's back distracted him from his broken arm. He could feel the blood seeping down his back into his clothes.

"No!" Dean shouted, rushing forward.

Sam barely heard him. He felt so weird. He couldn't hold his weight and had the vague sensation of dropping to his knees. Someone was holding his jacket, holding him in their arms. Sam's vision swam. He was so tired. His eyes refused to stay open. Was he being shaken? He couldn't tell. He needed to sleep. So tired. A part of him clung to the thin thread of consciousness, urged him to stay awake, to hang on longer. But it was a very small part. He let go.

Sam stood in a motel room, staring at paper clipping plastered on the walls. Yes, a woman in white. Dad figured it out. He could get back to Stanford on time for his interview. Good.

Dean said, "Alright, why don't you see if you can find an address. I'm gonna get cleaned up." Dean stood next to him, covered in mud and other filth.

Sam remembered this, but how could he remember it? It was happening right now. But he'd definitely done this before.

Dean raised his hand to stop Sam from talking, even though Sam hadn't said anything. He said, "No chick-flick moments." This was their first case together after Dad disappeared. Sam remembered. There'd be cops outside later. He'd crash the Impala into Constance Welch's house later.

Sam suddenly felt very dizzy. He needed air.

"I'll be right back," Sam said, moving towards the door.

"Bitch," Dean said.

Sam ignored him and opened the door to see the inside of a hospital room. What? He looked at the door he'd come through, and it clearly just led down the hall to the rest of the hospital. Weird.

Sam focused back on the room and saw Dean lying in a hospital bed hooked up to more tubes and wires than Sam was remotely comfortable with. But this had happened, too, didn't it? They'd been hit by a truck, Dean was in a coma. Sam saw the ouija board laying on the ground at the foot of Dean's bed. He'd used that to talk to Dean. There'd been a reaper. Then, Dad had made a deal. Sam remembered all of this. Why was it happening again?

Sam walked over to the oujia board and sat where he'd sat before. The motion made his back flare with pain. He gasped from the shock of it. What happened to his back? Gingerly, Sam repositioned himself on the floor. What was going on? The planchette started moving slowly towards the "Yes." Why was he reliving this?

When Dean's spirit started spelling "hunt," Sam stood up and walked back to the door. He couldn't deal with this again.

Pushing the door open to figure things out in the hall, he walked out to see the inside of the auditorium in Crawford Hall. The Trickster turned around to look at Sam's arrival, surprised. Dean grinned, his trick having worked out perfectly. Bobby emerged to Sam's left.

"I've done this before," Sam said.

The Trickster's gaze snapped to Sam's, and Sam knew that hadn't happened before.

"What did you say?" the Trickster asked.

Sam said, "This has happened before. We fought, Dean killed you. This is really freaking weird."

The Trickster snapped his fingers, making everyone but the two of them disappear.

"How are you doing that?" Sam asked, "You didn't do that before."

The Trickster hopped up and approached Sam, making Sam back up instinctively.

"I'm not a memory," the Trickster said, distractedly, "Sam, come here."

The Trickster's joking demeanor was completely gone. Sam reluctantly stepped forward towards the Trickster.

"Holy shit," the Trickster said, placing a hand to Sam's wrist. Quickly, he pressed two fingers to Sam's jugular. "That's not possible," he said, eyes wide.

Sam asked, "What?"

The Trickster released Sam and ran a hand through his hair. "I hate being the bearer of bad news," he said, "But you're dead, Sam."

"I'm dead?" Sam asked, scared. How did he die? What? How was that possible? His heart raced. What was going to happen to him?

"Well, you're not dead yet," the Trickster said, "You're dying. Give it a minute."

Sam closed his eyes. He was going to leave Dean alone. They hadn't killed Azazel yet. He hadn't avenged Jess. It was too soon.

"What do I have to do?" Sam asked.

The Trickster grinned and said, "You'll have to choose."

"Choose?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, choose. Souls only have three real options," the Trickster said, "Heaven, Hell, or Haunting. Find your reaper, and they'll help you figure it out."

"How long do I have?" Sam asked.

The Trickster laughed and asked, "Do I look like an expert to you?"

Sam rolled his eyes and headed for the door. He'd figure it out. Hopefully.

The Trickster grabbed Sam's arm and stopped him, turning him around. "Actually, Sammy, I am a bit of an expert on the whole life and death thing. You want more time, you got it," he said.

Sam gave him a confused glance as the Trickster snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, Sam found himself on a couch in a cabin. He recognized it right away as the cabin in Flagstaff where he'd run away to as a kid.

"Why are we here?" Sam asked.

The Trickster said, "It's safe. It'll take your reaper a bit to find you this far back in your head."

"Am I dead?" Sam asked.

The Trickster shifted uncomfortably in his seat next to Sam. "Technically, yes," he said, "I sort of stole your soul to confuse your reaper. We're hiding in your brain. I'm buying you time, though. Nothing sinister."

Sam gaped at the Trickster. "You what?" he asked.

"Nothing sinister, I swear," the Trickster said again.

Sam shook his head. This was insane.

"So, Sam," the Trickster asked, "How'd you die?"

"I don't know," Sam said. He needed to get back to his body. He needed to wake up. Dean needed him.

The Trickster tapped Sam's forehead and said, "Yes, you do. What happened?"

"Jake stabbed me," Sam said, not sure how he knew that, "He stabbed me in the back, severed my spinal chord."

"Who's Jake?" the Trickster asked, staring at him intently.

Sam said, "Jake is one of the children Azazel visited, the children with abilities. Jake has super strength." He didn't know why he was telling the Trickster this. He got the sense that he was divulging this information unwillingly, but he was dead, so what did it matter?

The Trickster added, "And how did you run into Jake?"

"We were kidnapped by demons. We were told to kill each other off. Jake and I were the last two standing," Sam said.

The Trickster huffed, his brow furrowing in confusion. "The demons must not know who you are. That's...adorable, really," he said.

Sam asked, "What do you mean?"

The Trickster looked at Sam sadly, and Sam thought he saw a hint of pain in those golden eyes. "You were supposed to win, Sam," the Trickster said, "You're the one. Always have been. You're not supposed to be dead. No demons can just undo the will of Heaven. None of this makes any sense."

Quickly, the Trickster slapped a carefree smile on his face, shielding whatever emotion might've been in his eyes. "Oh, well," he said, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

Sam was about to ask about everything the Trickster had just said when the demigod snapped his fingers.

They stood in his bedroom at Stanford. The shower was running, the smell of fresh baked cookies was in the air. Sam knew exactly what he'd see on the ceiling if he looked. He took a deep breath and gave an unamused look to the Trickster.

"What? It's not my brain that's got places like these," the Trickster said innocently, "Your reaper was getting close, I couldn't just-"

A woman with short, black hair appeared before them. She looked extremely angry. She glared at the Trickster.

"Hey, don't look at me," the Trickster said, "He asked nicely. Who could turn down eyes like that?"

Sam glanced at him before turning his attention to the woman. He needed to get home.

"Three days? You hid him from me for three days? I'm just supposed to look the other way?" she snapped. Three days? He'd been out for an hour. Maybe.

"Yes," the Trickster said, grinning. He smiled at Sam and disappeared.

"Come on," the woman said, extending her hand to Sam.

"Woah," he said, "I don't even know who you are."

"My name is Tessa. I'm here to help you to what comes next," she said softly.

"You're my reaper?" Sam asked.

"You seem shocked," she said, "Why, did Dean mention me?"

"No," he said, "Wait, you tried to reap Dean?"

Tessa sighed, "Tried to. Yes." Right, Dad's deal.

Sam knew he couldn't wait around and be a ghost in his own head. Moving on was the better option. Years of hunting had taught him at least that much. He reached his hand out to Tessa when he saw black smoke crawl up the reaper's arm.

"No!" she cried.

Another woman manifested from the smoke. Her eyes glowed red. The demon ran her fingers slowly down Tessa's arm.

"One brother for one soul," the demon said.

Sam did not like the sound of that. Tessa looked at Sam in abject horror. He tried to take a step back to run, but the demon grabbed his jacket and yanked him to her. She pressed a hand to his chest. Everything went dark.

When Sam awoke, he was laying on an old, musty mattress in a dark room. He smelled like death. What happened? The last thing he remembered was falling to his knees in the Cold Oaks. He sat up gingerly. Where was he?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark stain of blood from where he'd been laying. He jumped up in alarm, his back spasming painfully. Sam remembered the burning pain in his back from the town. He remembered Dean running towards him. From how stiff he felt, Sam could tell he'd been out for a while. What the hell happened?

Carefully, he shrugged out of his jacket. He gingerly lifted up his shirt and stood, back to a mirror, to see what damage had been done to his back. It was red, maybe a little scarred. Something really fucked up was going on.

The door swung open, and Dean walked in. "Sammy?" he said in slight disbelief, "Thank God." Was he expecting someone else? Dean walked over and gave Sam a tight hug, which was painful as shit.

What the hell was going on?